Serious Trouble at the InterNova Editorial Office. A Dramatic Dialogue
Geschrieben 14 October 2010 - 00:32
- Hi Michael
- Say, did you see Guy?
- What guy?
- Not what guy. Simply Guy. You know, the one from Tel Aviv.
- Oh, I understand. I think he's just uploaded himself.
- Well, he likes it.
- There are always these annoying bugs when he's coming back.
- I guess we're not in the position to tell him what to do in his spare time.
- Surely not. Maybe Richard is around?
- Oh, no. No. He's hiding.
- From what?
- Ah, you know, the girls.
- Shit, this guy is simply looking too good for his own good.
- What Guy?
- Forget it. What about Tabi?
- She's in Mexico. Swimming in the ocean and dancing and singing with her sexy friends.
- Oh yeah. I know there's always a problem even with the nicest woman.
- She's a born Mexican. It's in her blood. You can't blame her.
- Let me think... But Sergio must be around on a Wednesday evening. He is a wise man, a little older, you know.
- No, he's in his time capsule. Back in the 19th century, discussing some things with Schopenhauer and Nietzsche.
You know, Friedrich is rather fucked up at the moment. Writing a strange new book. "Why I'm so smart", "Why I'm
so wise" and shit like that. Wonder if he ever gets better.
- Oh, the hell. What do we pay them all for?
- We don't pay them.
- You're right. You're right.
- In fact, Lavie sent twelve bottles of French red wine yesterday. On his own account. For you to calm down
a little, you know.
- That's nice. But he knows that I don't drink.
- You do. I can smell it from here.
- It's not my smell of alcohol, it's yours.
- If you say so. Wait a minute...
- I think Claudia is next door. Playing with her band "I was born for loving you, baby". Maybe I should ask
her to come over, if she's serious with it.
- Oh, that's the noise all the time.
- It's no noise, you ignorant. She's great. I love her singing.
- I don't doubt it.
- Maybe I can help you
- Not with 1.4 per mille.
- 0.8. At most. What's all the fuss about anyway?
- I need someone to help me sort some things out. What's with Aleksandar?
- He is out in the park, listening to the birds and drawing some sketches. I think he even met a nice
- That's great news. That lucky guy.
- Why do you always blame Guy?
- But somebody must be around. Just one single soul.
- Of course there is. But there's a problem...
- Tell me.
- I would prefer not to.
- Talk, young Padawan.
- Well, it's...
- It's Frank.
- Well, he...
- He has dyed his hair black. You know what that means.
- No, not that Latin lover stunt again. I thought we hade driven that out of him.
- You know how he is.
- Yes, I do. Well, if fate has decided I will do it all alone.
- And what? What's so important?
- I wanted to select the new carpets for our library. I simply can't decide whether to order a
Penrose pattern or a classic Escher sketch.
- That's a tough one indeed.
- I'll find a way. What else can I do?
- Don't get depressive again. Take your pills.
- No. Bring me two bottles of the French red wine.
- Right away.
- And a drinking straw. I want to get drunk like a maniac.
- Now it's getting serious.
- By the way, where's Eric?
- On Mars. Researching for his new H.G. Wellsian story.
- I almost forgot. Give him my best wishes.
- I can get him online for you. As a hologram, you know.
- No, please. He always looks... well, somewhat inflated when on Mars. He's such a nice man. I don't like
to see him this way. Just greet him.
- I will.
- And off you go.
- Eh, yes. Just a minute.
- Take your time.
Geschrieben 14 October 2010 - 10:45
- Hey boys!
- Hey Sven!
- Do you want to link?
- Link what?
- My mouth-site to the bottle-site.
- You mean "Do you want to drink"?
- A possible interpretation.
- No, rather not.
- You drink too much.
- But without I have to die.
- Maybe we could freeze your brain.
- That would be great.
(whispering) - Then he can't write any more. (giggling)
- Oh, nothing. Just go on.
Neue Sciencefiction: www.svenklöpping.de
Mein Verlag: www.sternwerk.pmachinery.de
Geschrieben 28 September 2011 - 13:18
I.: Nun, ich nehme mal nicht an, dass irgend jemand sich so eine Geschichte ausdenken könnte. Bei einer Sache liegen Sie allerdings schief. Mr.Winthrop hat Sie geschickt.
H.: Nein. Ich sagte Ihnen doch, er...
I.: Yeah, er sei tot. Bekam ich mit. Aber ich rede von seinem Geist. (Macht ihre Augen klein.) Ach? Sie sind zu schlau um an Geister zu glauben? Aber durchs Universum fliegen, das ist rational...
(Ältere Bewohnerin des fernen Planeten vs. akademisch verhinderter Astronomie-Kennerin, die den Planeten gerade aus Versehen besucht, grob übersetzt aus Lovecraft Country, HarperCollins Verlag, S. 195, by Ruff)
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